


...and held her in my arms

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Captain Swan January Joy 2020 (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Mutual Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Emma Swan does not want to think about Killian Jones. She doesn’t want to think about his eyes or his face or that time he pressed her against a wall at a frat party and made her forget her own name. She definitely does not want to think about that. But when they are partnered with each other on a project they both are determined to ace she can’t avoid him any longer… or the feelings between them.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 303





	...and held her in my arms

**Author's Note:**

> For CS January Joy 2020, Day 9

_She’s pressed against the wall, the sounds of the party fading into the background as his lips devour hers. He tastes like beer and corn chips and God that shouldn’t turn her on nearly as much as it does. She clutches at his hair as his hand slips beneath her shirt to cup her breast, the other digging into her thigh as she hitches her leg over his hip and grinds against him. He tears his mouth from hers and stares at her, panting, pupils blown, and then she pulls him back down to her lips…_

“Miss Swan?” 

The sound of the professor’s voice snapped Emma from her memory and back into the small seminar room, made warm and slightly stuffy by the early afternoon sun slanting through its tall windows. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear the question.” 

“Perhaps because I didn’t ask you one,” said Professor Gold, fixing her with that unblinking stare of his that had been setting undergrads quaking in their boots for twenty-five years. “I merely wished to confirm that you are in fact present in this classroom. In mind as well as body.” 

She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck and had to force herself not to squirm. “Yes, Professor. Sorry.” 

Professor Gold stared at her for another painful moment then looked away. Emma sighed in relief. “As I was saying,” the professor intoned. “Your pair research papers will constitute twenty-five percent of your final grade, something I’m sure you are already aware as no doubt you have all read the syllabus with great care and attention.”

Emma could tell her classmates in the Political Science seminar wanted to groan, but didn’t dare do so in front of Professor Gold. As and nor did she. 

“I do not wish to have any bickering about choosing partners so I have chosen them for you myself,” Professor Gold continued. “You will find this list—” he held up a sheet of paper “—affixed to my office door should you have need to reconfirm the pairings that I am about to announce.” His gimlet stare swept the room. “Are there any questions?” 

There weren’t. 

He nodded. “Excellent. Now, Mr Booth, your partner will be...” 

Emma listened as the professor read out names, trying not to fidget but feeling herself grow increasingly tense as name after name was called but none were hers… or _his_. 

“…and last, but I feel quite certain—despite this morning’s momentary lapse— _not_ least, Miss Swan you will be working with Mr Jones.” 

_Breathe, Emma._

She glanced across the conference table to where Killian Jones sat slouched in his chair. His posture was relaxed but a pink flush began to creep across his cheekbones as he sensed her gaze on him and then his ridiculous eyelashes fluttered and their eyes met. 

Memories assailed her again—of those eyes dazed and wanting… her fingers in his hair… his tongue in her mouth… his hand between her legs… She tore her eyes away and focused on her notebook as Professor Gold reminded them of the requirements and due dates for the pair project, then quickly gathered her things and fled the room as soon as he dismissed the class. 

She was halfway down the hall before Killian caught up with her. 

“Swan!” he called, “Wait!” His fingers snagged the sleeve of her jacket and she spun around and yanked it away. 

“What?” she snapped. Knowing she was being ridiculous and that she couldn’t run away or avoid him when he was her damn project partner made her extra defensive. 

He looked taken aback by her tone, then resigned. “I just—” he attempted a smile “—I just thought perhaps we should exchange numbers. For the project.” 

She scowled. “I’ll see you in class on Tuesday.” 

“But we’re going to have to work outside of class as well,” he pointed out. “You heard the crocodile, this is a quarter of our final grade and I don’t know about you but I intend to ace it.” 

“The crocodile?” 

“Gold.” 

“Yeah, I got that from context but why do you call him a crocodile?” 

“Don’t you think he looks like one?” 

He did a bit, in his cold, reptilian eyes, but she’d be damned if she agreed with Killian Jones about anything. “Not scaly enough,” she retorted, and he laughed, a deep, rich laugh that settled low in her belly and _throbbed_ there. 

“So,” he said, still with a wide smile and eyes bright with mirth, “…numbers?” 

Emma hesitated, scrambling to come up with a reason, _any_ reason, not to give him her number. “I just—I don’t think—” She stumbled a bit as the light went out of his eyes and his smile faded. 

“All right,” he said, taking a pen from a pocket on the side of his satchel and grasping her hand firmly before she could snatch it away. His fingers were warm and slightly rough on the inside of her wrist as he held her hand steady and scribbled some numbers across the back of it. She held her breath, her heart racing, watching the tip of his tongue play at the corner of his lips as he finished writing and looked up, straight into her eyes. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her cheek as it had been that night, his touch on her skin achingly familiar. Emma swallowed through her parched throat and _forced_ the memories away. 

Killian blinked rapidly and gave himself a small shake, dropping her wrist like it burned him. He cleared his throat. “There,” he said. “That’s my number. Do with it what you will. But let me reiterate, Swan, we will need to work on this outside of class. I’m going to get an A out of that old reptile if it’s the last thing I do.” 

His expression was dark and stubbornly determined, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw. She watched it dance, mesmerised. 

He frowned. “Is there something on my face—” he began, then from down the hallway someone called “Jones! Hey, Killian!” and he turned to see who it was. 

A leggy brunette sauntered up and kissed Killian’s cheek, then made a production of wiping her lipstick off it with her thumb. “Hey, Ruby,” he greeted her, submitting to both the kiss and the cleanup with a fond smile that made Emma’s teeth grind. “What’s up?” 

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who just agreed to play at my party on Saturday!” Ruby waved her phone under Killian’s nose. “DriftWood! That band, the one we saw at the festival last month, you remember?” 

“Aye.” Killian took the phone and smiled as he read the screen. “Ah, brilliant, I liked them.” 

“I fucking _loved_ them, gah I can’t wait!” She took her phone back from Killian and did a little dance. “This party is gonna be so amazing. You and Belle are coming, right?” 

“Of course, lass, we wouldn’t dare miss it.” 

“Smart man.” Ruby grinned her megawatt grin then appeared to notice Emma for the first time. “Hey,” she said. “Um, Emma, isn’t it? Mary Margaret’s roommate?” 

“Yeah,” said Emma between clenched teeth, wondering why the hell she was still standing there. 

“I thought so. You can come too, if you want. Open invite, and MM will be there.” 

“Thanks,” said Emma shortly. “I’m busy.” 

“Oh.” Ruby glanced at Killian but he said nothing. “Well, if you change your mind—” 

“I won’t. I’ll see you in class on Tuesday, Killian.” She turned and stalked down the hall, fingernails digging into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists to stop them shaking. 

~

“Ugh, I don’t know why you like her,” said Ruby, watching Emma disappear around a corner. “She’s such a bitch.” 

“She’s not a bitch.” Killian could still feel the softness of Emma’s skin, the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips in tune with his own pounding heart. His whole hand was tingling, and he flexed his fingers absently. “She’s just—closed off. I think she must have been hurt in the past.” 

Ruby snorted. “Haven’t we all?” 

“I’m not just talking about your girlfriend of five minutes breaking up with you, Rubes,” Killian chided. “I mean real pain.” He saw a lost girl behind Emma Swan’s eyes, someone who’d been left alone. He was all too familiar with how that felt, but it wasn’t something he could talk about with Ruby. “Anyway, never mind,” he said, smiling at her. “Have you had lunch?” 

“Why do you think I came to find you?” Ruby grinned as she wrapped both her arms around one of his and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You owe me ten bucks from last weekend and I will totally accept payment in the form of cheeseburgers.” 

Killian laughed. “Cheeseburgers it is then.” 

~

When Emma got back to her dorm apartment that afternoon she scrubbed Killian’s number off her hand. But not before she programmed it into her phone. Just in case, she told herself. In case she got on a roll with the project and had something to discuss with him before Tuesday’s class. She held her breath as she saved the new contact then turned her phone upside down on the side of the sink as she washed her hands. 

She only had one class on Fridays so the next afternoon she went to the library to get started on her research. She was heading back to her table with an armload of books when she caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket in the corner of her eye and ducked back into the stacks just in time to avoid Killian as he walked by. Peeking around the corner of the shelf she saw him sling his satchel onto a table just two away from where she’d left her things and shrug out of his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. 

He wore dark jeans and a grey t-shirt with ‘Bristol Rowing’ in faded letters on the chest and before he sat down he rolled his neck and shoulders, the muscles across his back visibly flexing beneath the worn-thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Ugh, seriously have mercy on us,” groaned a voice to her left. Emma turned to see two girls with their heads close together, books clutched against their chests, watching Killian intently. 

“He’s just un _fair_ ,” said one, by the sound of her voice the same one who had just spoken. “No guy should be allowed to look that good.” 

“Right?” replied the other. “He’s in my American Lit class and I swear I want to die every time he talks. That _accent_. Is he still with that Belle chick, do you know?” 

“I think so. I see them together like all the time. Last week on my way to work I saw them going into the history museum, if you can believe it. I guess that’s his idea of a fun date.” 

“Ugh. Too bad.” 

“ _So_ too bad,” agreed the first girl. “I wish she’d share. They can go to boring-ass museums together in the day and then at night I’ll take that home and climb it like a tree.” 

“Ride it like a bronco,” giggled the other. 

“Bang it like a screen door in a hurricane.”

They collapsed against each other, laughing, and Emma saw that Killian had plugged some headphones into his laptop and was tapping his foot as he opened a document. He didn’t even notice his fans, she thought snidely, firmly ignoring the twisty ache of regret threaded with guilt that thinking about Killian’s girlfriend always caused her. When she was certain his attention was fully on his writing and music she slipped quietly into the study area and over to the table where she’d left her things. Quickly gathering them along with the books she’d selected, she headed for the checkout desk. She’d study at home, she thought. 

~

Emma worked on her various papers and projects all Friday evening and most of the day Saturday, and late Saturday afternoon found her sitting on the couch in her pajamas with her glasses perched on her nose and her hair in a messy bun, a book balanced on one knee and her laptop on the other, typing frantically, so engrossed that she didn’t notice Mary Margaret until her roommate plopped down on the sofa next to her. 

“Are you _still_ working?” she said, by way of greeting. 

Emma peered over the tops of her glasses. “I have eighteen credits this semester, MM,” she replied, “it’s a lot of work.” 

“I know, but you push yourself too hard,” said Mary Margaret, frowning in that mother-hen way that Emma found both comforting and deeply irritating. “You need to take a break, Emma, or you’ll break yourself. Why don’t you come to Ruby’s party with me, have a night off?” 

“I’d rather write all my essays twice,” muttered Emma, glaring at her screen. “The second time in pig Latin.” 

Mary Margaret’s expression shifted into one of fond exasperation. “Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun!”

“No, it’ll be fun for five minutes then you and David will disappear into a dark corner and I’ll be left alone with Ruby who hates me and—her friends,” retorted Emma. 

“Ruby doesn’t hate you!” 

“Every time she sees me she pretends we’ve never met before.” 

“She—” 

“And you know she does, Mary Margaret, you’ve seen it yourself!” 

“Well, okay, that’s not very nice,” Mary Margaret conceded, “but she’s really great once you get to know her.” 

Emma snorted. 

“And what’s wrong with her friends?” Mary Margaret continued, then her eyes narrowed. “Or by ‘friends’ do you actually mean ‘Killian’?”

Emma shrugged. “It’s just… awkward with him.” _Seeing him with Belle,_ she didn’t say. 

“What, because you two kissed once? Emma that was way back last semester, he probably doesn’t even remember.” 

“He doesn’t.” 

“So what’s the proble—oh. _Oh._ OH. Oh I _see_.”

“What the hell does that me—”

“You like him.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were wide. “You _like_ him!”

Emma scowled. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do! You like him and you hate that he doesn’t remember making out with you! Oh my God this explains so much!” 

“It doesn’t—look, MM, look.” She closed her laptop and her book and set both on the coffee table, then turned to Mary Margaret with a pleading gesture. “Look,” she said again. 

“What? What am I looking at?”

Emma took a deep breath. “Killian and I, we—we didn’t just make out,” she said. 

“ _What!_ ” Mary Margaret’s shriek nearly rattled the windows. “What did you do?”

“He—got me off. With his hand.” She winced as Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped and barrelled on before her roommate could ask any questions. “And I absolutely intended to return the favour, at _least_ ,” she said. “Though really what I wanted was to find someplace private where I could fuck him stupid.”

“Well. Naturally.” 

“And you’d _think_ ,” Emma continued, “that in a damn frat house there would be an empty room _somewhere_ , but on the way to look for one we sort of got distracted by, well…” she waved her hand and Mary Margaret nodded eagerly. 

“So what happened?” she asked. 

“What happened was the party got busted and everyone scattered. We were in an empty hallway that was suddenly full of people running and in all the confusion we got separated. I looked for him once I got outside but I couldn’t find him and so I just—went home.” Emma shrugged again. 

“But—why didn’t you ever talk to him about—” 

“I did,” Emma interrupted. “I saw him the next day, outside the library.” _With Belle._ “And he—well, he made it clear that he didn’t remember, or didn’t think it was anything worth remembering.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “Are you sure? That really doesn’t sound like him. Maybe he was just being—“

“I’m sure,” said Emma flatly. She could still feel the hot humiliation of it, the crushing sensation in her chest when she saw Belle clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’d said. Could still hear the dismissive words he’d spoken, annihilating the fragile hope she’d been stupid enough to let herself feel. 

She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat and gave Mary Margaret a tight smile. “So you can see why I’m not exactly eager to be around him,” she said. 

Mary Margaret was still frowning. “I guess so,” she replied. “But there will be loads of other people there, you know, it won’t be hard to avoid him. And Ruby’s booked a band that’s supposed to be really good.” 

“I know, but—” 

“And you could really use a night of fun, sweetie.” 

Spending the night dodging Killian and Belle was hardly Emma’s idea of fun, and when you added Ruby to the mix, _plus_ the fact that she wouldn’t be able to drink because she could not trust herself in the vicinity of Killian Jones if she were in any way impaired, and it began to sound like actual hell. She shook her head firmly. 

“I’m sorry MM, but I really don’t want to go.”

“But—” 

“Look, I’m going to finish this history paper then work for a few hours on my PoliSci research and after that I promise I’ll watch a movie or do something else relaxing, okay?” she said. “You go to the party and have a great time. And tomorrow maybe you and David and I can have lunch together.” 

“Well, okay, if you’re sure,” said Mary Margaret, still with her worried frown. 

Emma forced a smile. “Definitely. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

~

She texted Killian on Sunday afternoon. As much as she hated to admit it the unavoidable fact was that he was right. They were going to need to meet outside of class to get this paper written if they wanted a decent grade and she was just as determined to get an A as he was. Professor Gold was a notoriously tough grader and even if Emma wasn’t currently rocking a 3.8 GPA with only a semester and some summer classes left before graduation, she would still want to get an A from Gold, just to prove she could. For the challenge. 

She had a sneaking suspicion that Killian’s motivation was the same. 

She texted him not really expecting a reply; he was surely hung over and in no mood to think about studying, she thought, and so the buzz of her phone less than a minute after she’d sent the text took her by surprise. His message said that he had also made a start on research and was available on Monday afternoon if she wanted to get started on the project. Emma didn’t need to check her schedule to know that she was available at the time he suggested but she did anyway, and debated for several minutes before finally replying that was fine and she’d see him tomorrow. 

Her stomach was twisting with nerves when she arrived at the library and saw him waiting for her in front of the check-out desk. He gave her a bright smile which just made it twist harder. 

“Hey, Swan. I’ve staked out a carrel for us,” he said. 

“Already?” 

“I, uh, had some other stuff to work on so I got here an hour or so ago.” He scratched at a spot behind his ear and Emma frowned. He wasn’t lying but her internal lie detector was telling her it wasn’t the whole truth either. There must be another reason he’d gone early to the library. 

She followed him up to the fifth floor, where instead of communal study tables small clusters of carrels were scattered among the stacks, a perfect haven for people who preferred to study in solitude. Emma loved it there. 

Killian headed straight to a carrel in the farthest corner of the floor, just beneath a large window where sunlight dappled by the early-spring buds of an ancient oak tree made shadow patterns on its scarred wooden surface. 

“I hope this is okay,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. His other hand was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans and his shoulders tight with tension, and Emma realised with a jolt of surprise that he was nervous. Flirty, confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance Killian Jones was _nervous_. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. 

“It’s good,” she assured him with a small smile. “Perfect actually. I love this corner, it’s so peaceful.” 

His smile bloomed again. “That’s it precisely. I come here as often as I can.” 

“Mmm, me too.” Emma declined to mention that she’d seen him there more than once and resented his presence in her preferred space. Or that she’d wished, deep down, that they were the kind of friends who could share it. 

She swallowed hard as they sat next to each other at the small table, its high walls protecting them from the view of anyone who didn’t expressly look to see if the carrel was free. They were sure as hell sharing the space now, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. Of course, it would help if she could look at his hands without thinking about where they’d been and what they could do there, or his lips without remembering them trailing fire up her neck as she clutched at his hair. 

She cleared her throat and looked away. “So,” she said, to fill the silence as she pulled out her books and laptop. “How was the party?” 

“Oh, uh, it was fine. Fun. DriftWood was great, and apparently they’ve just been scouted. I have a feeling they’re going to be big.” He shot her a grin. “Selfishly, I hope they are so I can be smug when I tell my grandchildren the tale of how I saw them before they were famous. Beatles at the Cavern Club for our generation.” He laughed, and Emma couldn’t suppress an answering smile. 

“You like music then?” she asked. 

He nodded, a bit warily. “I do, but I don’t really like talking about it. People get so passionate about what they like and don’t like, and it tends to make them judgemental.” 

“Yes!” Emma turned to face him, forgetting her nerves in her excitement at someone saying what she’d always thought. “I hate that so much, when people make judgements about me as a person because of the music I like. So I listen to the Jonas Brothers sometimes, so the fuck what? I listen to other stuff too!” 

Killian bit his lip and she froze. _Fuck._

“You’re judging me about the Jonas Brothers, aren’t you?” she said. 

“I’m not.” 

“You so are!” 

“Honestly, love—” 

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Emma glared at her screen as she opened the document with her project notes, slamming on the keys far harder than necessary. She didn’t see Killian’s hand twitch towards her, just a shiver of movement before he deliberately closed his fist and pulled it back. 

“I’m not judging, Swan, truly,” he said. “I agree with you completely, we like what we like and that’s fine.” 

Emma shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. “You’d be a lot more convincing if you didn’t look like you were trying not to laugh,” she retorted. 

He laughed. 

“Oh my God I should never have told you anything,” she groaned, letting her head fall onto the table. 

Killian leaned closer, still not touching her but close enough that a tingle spread across her skin at his nearness. “Okay, look, the Jonas Brothers are not something I personally am into, but if it will make you feel better I’ll confess that in certain moods I like to play Taylor Swift at an obnoxiously high volume,” he said, and when she dared to peek up at him his expression was open and earnest. 

She sat up. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes I even dance.” He smiled. “Is that an embarrassing enough admission for you?” 

“Oh, more than.” 

“Good.” His smile widened into a grin, and she felt her own lips curl in response. Their eyes held for a moment, their hearts pounding, until Killian blinked and made a gruff noise in his throat. “Anyway, um, the band.” He opened his laptop and typed in the password. “I chatted with them a bit after their set and they were talking about going on to a club, but I ended up having to leave early because Belle wasn’t feeling well.” Emma stiffened, the smile fading from her face. “Which means I was far less hung over yesterday morning than I expected,” Killian continued, “and was able to spend the afternoon getting started on my research, and—Emma? Are you okay?” 

She forced her lips to curve. “Fine,” she replied, “I’m fine. Show me this research.” 

He did, and she was surprised by how good it was, then surprised at her surprise. Of _course_ he was good at research, she thought, almost in despair. Everything about him seemed expressly designed to check every box on her ‘perfect man’ list. Everything except his beautiful, smart, elegant, charming, and very nice girlfriend. 

He had come up with ideas and conclusions that were exactly in sync with her own, even filling in some of the gaps in the reading she’d done, and in her enthusiasm about finally working with someone whose intelligence and engagement in the project was equal to hers Emma completely forgot her hurt and resentment towards him, forgot Belle, even forgot their kiss. She forgot everything, in fact, except Killian’s smile and the blue of his eyes, his razor-sharp mind and how damned much she enjoyed his company. They talked through the plan for their whole project, divided up the research and brainstormed ideas, and wrote their outline. It was the most productive group project meeting Emma had ever experienced, and when her phone alarm buzzed to remind her of the time she felt genuinely disappointed that it had to end. 

“I have a class at four,” she told Killian almost apologetically. “So I should probably be going. Um, do you want—should we check in again on Wednesday?” 

He nodded eagerly. “Aye, let’s. Same time and place?” 

“Works for me.” She gathered her things together and put them in her backpack, slung it over her shoulder then turned to look at Killian. He was watching her with a soft expression that made her chest flutter and her belly clench. 

“This was—well it was—great,” said Emma. 

“It really was.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite a team.” 

She tried not to smile, but the tug at her own lips was irresistible. “You might be right,” she conceded. “At least for PoliSci projects.” 

“It’s a start.”

The look in his eyes was so familiar, the same look he’d had at the party. She still remembered it, all of it with perfect clarity, despite all she’d had to drink. The heat in his eyes and how they seemed to caress her face, the way they kept darting to her lips as he licked his own until she couldn’t take any more and had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him upstairs to the empty hallway and giving in to the lust that she’d felt since the first time she saw him.

“Hey, you guys.” They started in surprise and turned to see Belle approaching, strolling gracefully in those towering heels that Emma could never quite get the hang of. Her warm smile encompassed both of them. “How’d the meeting go?” she asked. 

“Great.” Killian grinned at her. “We got a lot done.” 

“So are you ready for a coffee break?” 

“Absolutely, I could use a shot of caffeine. Swan, would you like to join us? You should have time to grab something before your class?” 

Emma felt like she’d been doused in icy water, so numbed that she missed the eager note in Killian’s voice, the hopeful yearning in his eyes. Silently she cursed herself for getting caught up, _again_ , in her attraction to him, letting herself forget that there could be nothing between them except this project.

“No,” she snapped, and suppressed a flinch at the looks on their faces. She could hear how rude she sounded and as much as she hated it, she _needed_ that rudeness, needed the distance it put between her and people who had the power to hurt her. People like Killian, who got past all her defences without even trying and left her far too vulnerable. “I should go. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Bye Belle.” She turned and left, forcing herself not to run. 

~

Killian watched her go, his heart in his throat and his blood still humming with the effects of two hours spent tucked away with her, so close that he could feel the heat of her skin and smell her hair, and see the gold flecks in her eyes whenever they met his. He felt dazed and off kilter but also triumphant, certain now that everything he’d always suspected about Emma was true—that behind those walls she kept so firmly between herself and everyone else there lay a woman worth knowing. A bloody brilliant woman whose wry sense of humour matched his own and whose perspective and ideas challenged him in a way he couldn’t remember ever being challenged before. It was exhilarating and intoxicating and glorious, and he was so, so fucked. And so _not_ in the way he wanted to be fucked by Emma Swan. 

“You know you’re ridiculous, right?” said Belle, observing him with an amused smirk. 

He scowled at her. “Are you mocking my pain?” 

“I’m mocking your Victorian-maiden pining,” she shot back. “It’s been months since you got off with her and I bet you still think about it every day, don’t you?” 

Killian could feel himself turning red. “Maybe.” 

“Still sneak glances at her across the table in your seminar, still get coffee every morning at that place you hate because it’s where she goes,” continued Belle. 

“Shut up.” Killian shoved his laptop into his satchel and flung it across his shoulder, avoiding Belle’s eyes. 

“Still do most of your studying in the library, hoping you’ll see her here.” 

“Bloody hell, you make me sound like a stalker,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Belle’s smirk softened into sympathy. “No, just a guy with a serious crush,” she said gently. 

“Aaand now I sound fifteen.” 

She snorted a laugh. “What you are is smitten, Killian, actually _smitten_ , and that’s not a word I ever thought I’d need to use in real life. It’s adorable and also _deeply_ pathetic.”

“Thanks a lot, mate, you’re always such a comfort to me,” he snarked as they began to walk towards the elevator. 

They were halfway to the ground floor before Belle spoke again. “You know you could just ask her out,” she said. 

“I _did!_ ” Killian threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture. “You were there, and I’m sure you remember that her refusal was pretty unequivocal.” He could still feel the pain of it, of all his hopes of finally having a chance with her ground to dust under the heel of her boot. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t been there it would’ve gone differently,” Belle muttered under her breath. 

The elevator dinged as she spoke and Killian frowned. “Sorry, what?”

Belle shook her head. “Nothing. But I do feel I should remind you how _you’re_ always the one who says that if you want something you have to fight for it.”

“That doesn’t apply to people, though, unless they want it too. If she wanted me…” He remembered the party, remembered the struggle to control his racing heart when she appeared at his elbow smiling a wicked smile and flirting back at him, remembered losing his breath and his sanity as she leaned in close and let her fingertips trail up his thigh. He remembered the sizzle of the connection he’d felt between them, the understanding he could have sworn she’d felt too. If Emma wanted him, if she gave even the smallest hint that she was open to something happening between them, he would fight like _hell_ for her. 

_If._

“But she doesn’t,” he continued gruffly, “she’s made that perfectly clear.” He swallowed hard as the familiar ache squeezed his chest. 

“But if you—” 

“Belle, please, can we talk about something else?” he implored, and after a short pause she nodded. Killian hunched his shoulders as they walked the short distance to the coffee shop. He could still feel Belle’s eyes on him and sense her concern. But there was nothing she or anyone else could do. Emma had made her decision, he just had to find a way to live with it. 

~

To Killian’s relief Emma seemed fine in class the next day, smiling softly when he entered the seminar room and their eyes met, setting his heart racing again. The seat next to her was empty and he hesitated just inside the door, debating whether he should sit in it. Before he could decide if she would welcome or retreat from him, August swaggered into the room, plopped himself right down in the seat and proceeded to attempt to flirt with her. 

At least she wasn’t any more receptive to August than she was to him, thought Killian crossly as he sat in his accustomed seat across the table from her, watching the scene play out from the corner of his eye. August’s philosophy-and-creative-writing-double-major pretensions never failed to get on his nerves and from the look on Emma’s face whenever the other man opened his mouth they got on hers as well. 

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that he was apparently lumped into the same category as August bloody Booth. 

The subject of their seminar class was Topics in Political Philosophy, and despite Professor Gold’s cold eyes and often cutting remarks Killian had always enjoyed it. The crocodile was a brilliant mind, one of the reasons he’d chosen this university for his year abroad, and debating him was the kind of fierce challenge Killian lived for. He knew Gold liked to bait him, to play devil’s advocate and watch him squirm, and he prided himself on never giving in. 

Ordinarily when he and Gold got caught up in one of their sparring matches the other students would sit back and listen, not daring to venture a remark. Today, however, as he was catching his breath after an impassioned argument in favour of migrant rights and waiting for Gold to fire back, he was astonished to hear a voice, cool and confident, coming to his defence. 

It was Emma. He spun in his seat to look at her and she caught his eye, giving him a little smile before refocusing her attention on Gold. The professor turned to her with a raised eyebrow and slightly bared teeth. 

“Interesting point, Miss Swan,” he said. “And why do you think that?” 

It was Gold’s most terrifying question, one that pinned the student on the spot and forced them to support their argument with solid evidence. Most crumbled beneath the pressure of it and of Gold’s unblinking stare, but Emma sat up straighter, green eyes glinting as she threw down a Plato quote and followed it up with Rousseau, smoothly shoring up the weak points of Killian’s own argument with irrefutable authority. 

Gold stared at her in silence for so long the tension in the room became unbearable, drawing out endlessly as the rest of the class waited, barely daring to breathe, until finally he gave a brusque nod. “Well argued, Miss Swan,” he said. 

As one the other students turned and gaped at Emma, who herself turned to Killian with a triumphant grin that was also, somehow, shy. 

_You are amazing,_ he wanted to say, wanted to _shout_ it, wanted to leap across the table and kiss her. But Gold was already moving on to another topic, and Emma returned her attention to her notebook, and Killian released a shaky breath and tried not to wonder what the fuck he was supposed to do with all these feelings.

~ 

Emma normally fled the seminar room as quickly as she could once class ended but that afternoon she gathered her things slowly and timed her exit to coincide with Killian’s. He noticed of course, and gave her a bright grin. 

“That was sheer brilliance in there today, Swan,” he said. “You are officially my hero.” 

She shrugged, ducking her head to hide her pleased smile. “Professor Gold always says I should talk more in class, so…” 

“You absolutely should,” said Killian vehemently. “Especially if you’re going to be saying things like that.” 

“And now I’m worried I’ve set the bar too high,” laughed Emma. 

“Nonsense. I’m sure that was only scratching the surface of what you have to offer. Remember, I know how you research.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, managing to infuse the word _research_ with such suggestive inflection that Emma felt herself blush. 

They walked in silence for several minutes, Emma simply following Killian where he led without really noticing their path as she steeled herself for what she had to say to him. 

“Look, Killian,” she said finally. “I want to apologise.” 

He frowned at her. “Apologise?” 

“For how I acted yesterday,” she clarified. “I was rude to you and to—to Belle, and I’m sorry.” 

Killian shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You have nothing to apologise for, love.” 

“No, I do,” she insisted, and rushed on when he opened his mouth to argue. “Please, just let me say this. I know I can be… hard sometimes. I push people away. But I don’t want to push _you_ away. I mean, I want to... I want… _damn_ it!” 

Killian stopped and turned to her, and she noticed that they were standing in front of the main doors to the student union. “What do you want, Emma?” he asked gently. 

“Can we—” she twisted her fingers together, avoiding his eyes. “Can we be friends?” 

She looked up at him just in time to see something flash across his face, something that looked almost like hurt. But then he smiled. “Of course we can. I’d be honoured to call myself your friend.” 

She huffed a breath as her stomach fluttered and jangled with pleasure and nerves. “I don’t really know how to reply when you say stuff like that,” she said. 

“You could just say ‘yes’.” 

She frowned. “Yes?” 

He nodded. “Yes.” 

“Yes to what?” 

“Well,” said Killian, striding to the door of the union and opening it for her with a small bow. “First _I_ say ‘I’m going in here to get some lunch would you care to join me,’ and then _you_ say…” he gestured at her, eyebrows raised. 

“Yes,” she said, fighting a smile. 

“Brilliant.” He grinned at her as she preceded him through the door. “How does pizza sound?” 

“Sounds great.” 

Time to put the past behind her, Emma told herself firmly as they stood in line for pizza. What happened happened and she couldn’t undo it, but she had to find a way to work with Killian and also, damn it, she _liked_ him. And he seemed to like her. That was enough. It would have to be. 

~~

Killian slammed his book shut, shattering the studious silence of the library and making Emma jump. Another student in a nearby carrel shot them both a dirty look and she shrugged apologetically. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. 

“I can’t do it any more,” he declared. “I cannot study another moment, Swan! I protest! I _revolt!_ ” 

She rolled her eyes. “Bit dramatic.” 

“Emma. _Look_ at the weather today,” he said, gesturing to the window behind them, where the oak tree had sprouted tender, pale green leaves and the sky was a blinding and unclouded blue. More than a month had passed since they’d started their regular library study sessions and during that time spring had decidedly sprung. “It’s gorgeous out there,” Killian continued, “we are all but finished with this project—which is a work of sheer and unadulterated brilliance, guaranteed to knock the crocodile’s socks off—and I refuse to remain indoors any longer. Let’s take the afternoon off.” 

“I have a class—” 

“Skip it.” 

She stared at him, mildly shocked. “I can’t skip a class!” 

“Why not? Will you fail if you’re not there on this one occasion?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Will the professor die from missing you?” 

She snorted. “No.” 

“Skip it! Take the afternoon off. Come for a walk with me.” 

“A walk?” 

“Aye, Swan, a walk. Where you put one foot in front of the other and propel yourself forward.” 

“I know what a walk is, Killian.” 

“Really? Because you sounded uncertain.” He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes again even as a grin tugged at the corners of her lips. 

His grin dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her stomach clench in a way that was by now so familiar she hardly noticed it. “Let’s get coffee and walk down to the pier and look at the sailboats,” he said eagerly. “I’ll show you the one I intend to buy someday.” 

“You want to buy a sailboat?” she asked in surprise. This was the first she’d heard of any such intention, though she knew Killian so well now she sometimes forgot they hadn’t always been friends. 

“Oh yes. And sail it around the world,” he replied. 

Her eyes widened. “Really?” 

He nodded. “I’d like to, anyway. Liam naturally thinks that would be a foolish waste of time. But if the sailboat were mine, well, he couldn’t do anything to stop me, could he?” 

Emma smiled and shook her head. “Liam just worries about you,” she said. “You’re lucky, to have someone who worries.” 

Killian was instantly contrite. “You’re right, of course, love,” he said, with that look in his eyes that always made her want to throw herself in his arms and just sink into him. “And in truth I will probably not go around the world on a sailboat, but instead find a job after graduation and settle down to fifty years of grind like a good little cog in the machine.” He grinned as Emma laughed. “But let’s go look at the sailboats anyway.” 

“But—” 

“No arguments, Swan, we’re having an afternoon off.” He stood and slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Come on.” 

~

They got coffee from the little shop just off campus that they now considered their regular place, where they went every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after their study sessions and before Emma’s four o’clock class. Cups in hand, they strolled through the small, residential neighbourhood where student rentals sat alongside slightly run-down family homes until they reached the water. 

A weatherbeaten wooden pier stretched out before them, with a small rocky beach on their left and a marina far in the distance to their right. They went to the end of the pier and sat, their feet dangling just above the surface of the water, and watched the boats out on the blue horizon. 

“That one,” said Killian, pointing. “That’s the sort of boat I want.” 

Emma looked at the one he indicated, a sleek and shiny sailboat that was certainly attractive but not nearly as much as Killian’s face, with its soft, wistful expression that to her surprise she realised she’d never seen before. She shook her head, a wry little smile on her lips. Months of struggling to avoid looking at him, she thought, and now after four short weeks of friendship she knew all his faces, every subtle nuance of his expressions. She knew what he looked like when he was happy, when he was frustrated, when he was angry, when he was lost in daydreams or when he was about to say something outrageous. She knew what he looked like when he was listening to her with that focused attention that made her feel like she _mattered_ , and when he wanted to take her hand but held himself back. 

Because he wasn’t sure how she would react, Emma knew, and she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure how she would react either. For as much as she still wanted him and wished things between them could be different—a feeling that only grew stronger the more they learned about each other—the idea of making herself so vulnerable to him again was terrifying. And, of course, there was still the small matter of his girlfriend. 

Belle had never again shown up at the library when they were studying, and Killian rarely mentioned her. When he did it was always casually, in passing: a story she had told him when they were having dinner, or something funny they saw at one of Ruby’s parties. Parties Emma herself could never bring herself to attend despite Mary Margaret’s repeated pleas. Her friendship with Killian had become so precious to her and her feelings for him so deeply personal that she couldn’t stand the idea of exposing any of it to the eyes of Ruby or Belle. Even Mary Margaret didn’t know how close she and Killian had become, or that much of the time she spent at David’s, Emma spent at their apartment with Killian.

“Swan!” Killian chided, giving her an exasperated frown. “You’re not even looking!” 

“I am!” Emma pulled herself from her reverie and looked back at the boat. “It’s—okay, I don’t know anything about sailboats but it looks… nice?” 

He laughed. “One of these days, woman, I will take you sailing, and teach you how to appreciate a vessel such as that one.”

Emma smiled as a rush of warmth flooded her. She doubted she would ever get tired of hearing him say things like that. Things that suggested they would stay in each other’s lives once their project was finished. That he treasured their friendship as much as she did. That he wouldn’t leave her. 

~

They sat on the pier for nearly two hours, watching the boats and talking aimlessly until the breeze off the water grew too brisk and they wrapped their jackets tightly around themselves and headed back to campus. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then?” said Killian when they reached the corner next to the sciences building where he had to turn left to get to his apartment and she continue straight to go to hers. “Your place?” 

“Yep. Come by about four.”

“I’ll bring the beer.” 

“Killian, we are still going to have to get some work done, especially since we wasted today.” 

“ _Wasted?_ ” He raised an eyebrow at her. 

She huffed. “You know what I mean! It was fun and yes, we probably did need the break but it’s put us behind schedule.” 

“Never fear, Swan,” said Killian with a smile, leaning in so that their heads were _almost_ touching. “We’ll be able to get everything finished tomorrow. And then, beer.” 

She laughed, her heart pounding as she watched him lick his lower lip and then bite it. “All right, all right. See you then.” 

“See you then, love.” 

Emma headed home, still with the silly, happy smile spending time with Killian always put on her face. She let herself drift into daydreams as she crossed the campus and was just cutting through the small lawn behind the library when she caught sight of Belle and Ruby sitting close together on the grass. Emma stopped abruptly, wondering if she should turn around and go home another way. They hadn’t noticed her yet so she still had time, and after the lovely afternoon she’d just had she really didn’t want to get stuck making awkward small talk with Killian’s girlfriend and someone who always pretended not to remember her name. 

Before she could decide what to do, Ruby wrapped an arm around Belle’s shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. A soft, deep kiss that looked well-practiced, with Belle’s hand fisted on the sleeve of Ruby’s jacket and Ruby’s fingers twined into her hair. It was intense and intimate, comfortable but also hot, the kind of kiss that only happens between people who have kissed before and intend to continue doing so well into the future. 

Emma gasped and then she reeled, stumbling backwards and around the corner of the library where she leaned weakly against the wall, struggling to get her head around what she’d just witnessed. 

_Killian,_ was her first and frankly only thought. _What am I going to say to Killian?_

It wasn’t her business, obviously. What went on between him and Belle was between them, and Emma very decidedly did not want to get involved. But she couldn’t bear the idea of him being hurt, and if Belle was lying to him, running around with Ruby behind his back, then his heartbreak was all but inevitable. 

Her own heart was already hurting for him. 

What was the right thing to do here, she wondered frantically. Would it be better for him to find out from her or from Belle? Was Belle even planning to tell him? Was it a case of ‘he deserves the truth’ or ‘keep your nose out of other people’s business’?

Emma’s mind raced as her feet carried her blindly back to her apartment where she smiled vaguely at Mary Margaret and waved away her attempts at conversation, then retreated to her room. Dropping her backpack carelessly on the floor, she kicked off her boots and her jeans and crawled into bed, wrapped the duvet tightly around herself and tried desperately to think.

~

She was no closer to a decision about what to do the following afternoon, and as the clock ticked ever closer to Killian’s arrival her thoughts became more and more muddled. Surely it was best to say nothing, she thought. Leave it between Killian and Belle. But _could_ she? Could she spend the evening with Killian, listening to his gorgeous voice and looking at his precious face, all the while knowing he was about to have his heart broken? 

But could she bear to be the one to break it? 

Her bell buzzed and she took several deep breaths before opening the door to see Killian standing there with a wide smile and a six-pack of brown bottles which he presented to her with a flourish. 

“Wait till you try this beer, Swan. It’s made in this place not far from—what’s wrong?”

“What?” She attempted a smile. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Love, you’re practically vibrating with tension, it’s clear that something’s troubling you. You can talk to me about it you know.” 

Emma laughed a bit hysterically. “I really can’t,” she said. 

“Of course you can,” said Killian softly. “You can tell me anything.” 

There was the faintest note of hurt in his voice, a tiny furrow between his brows caused by her reluctance to confide in him, but he couldn’t know just how much more painful the secret he was trying to pry from her would be. 

“I can’t tell you this,” she whispered. 

His frown deepened and he looked at her for an uncomfortably drawn-out moment before giving a small nod. “As you like, Swan. But you know I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.” 

She forced herself to smile, digging her fingernails deep into the skin of her arms to stop herself from grabbing him, from wrapping her arms around him and shielding him from every hurt. “I know.” 

_Fuck_ Belle, she thought with a sudden fierce fury. Fuck her for doing this to him, for treating his heart so carelessly, for hurting him. Emma couldn’t imagine letting Killian go. If he were hers she never, ever would. 

God she wanted that so much. Wanted the freedom to touch him whenever she liked, to rest her head against his shoulder as they sat on the pier, to let her hand brush his as they said goodbye. Just those small, casual touches that carried so much intimacy. She wanted the freedom to tell him how she felt, to hold him in her arms and kiss him as she had before, to feel his hands on her again and to _finally_ get hers on him. 

Belle had had that freedom and she’d thrown it away, and the unfairness of that, the waste of it, made Emma so angry she couldn’t stop tears from welling up in her eyes and overflowing onto her cheeks. 

Her habit of angry-crying was seriously inconvenient. 

Killian had his back to her as he set the six-pack on the counter of her little mini-kitchen. “Anyway, about the beer,” he said, glancing back with a grin that fell from his face at the sight of her tears, replaced by a look of panic. 

“Emma!” he choked, almost stumbling in his haste to get to her side, stopping just shy of touching her and flexing his hands helplessly in the space between them. “Emma, love, what’s the matter? What’s happened?” He lifted his hand as though to touch her cheek then yanked it away and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please talk to me,” he implored. “Let me help.” 

Emma wiped furiously at her cheeks but the tears kept falling. “You can’t help,” she said. 

“But why? Has someone done something to you? Has—” 

“No! No. I’m fine.” 

He scowled. “You are obviously not bloody fine.” 

“No, I am, really. I cry when I’m angry, that’s all.”

“Well then, what’s made you angry?” 

“Killian, please,” Emma swiped at her cheeks again, and in frustration turned away from him. “Don’t push me on this, it’s something I just—I—I _won’t_ tell you.” 

She heard him gasp, a sharp, hurt intake of breath that she could swear actually cut into her. “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want. Perhaps I should just go.” 

“No!” She spun around again, her heart cracking at the sight of the blank expression on his face and the pain in his eyes. “You don’t have to.” 

“I think it’s best, Swan, as you clearly don’t want me here.” 

“No, I do!” she implored. “That’s not it at all, I just—it’s just this thing I can’t tell you about—” 

“This thing that’s upset you so badly it’s made you cry.” 

“Yes it has, but I—it’s not my business.” 

“It must be, or it wouldn’t bother you so.” 

“It—concerns someone I care about. But if I tell them, it will hurt them.” She met his eyes, silently pleading for understanding. “If your friend saw something that they knew would hurt you to hear about, would you want them to tell you?” she asked him. “Even if it wasn’t really something they should be involved in?” 

“Without knowing the precise details of the situation it’s hard to say,” replied Killian. “But I think yes, I would want to know the truth. Regardless of the source.” 

“And you wouldn’t blame the source for telling you?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Okay.” Emma nodded. “Okay.” She pressed her hand against her stomach and drew a deep breath. “I saw Belle kissing Ruby,” she said, watching carefully for his reaction. There… wasn’t one. 

“Where were they?” he asked.

“In that little grassy area behind the library.” 

“Ha,” he said. “Well, it’s about bloody time.” 

“It’s—what?” 

“They’ve been sneaking around for months, I’m glad they’re finally taking it out in the open,” he said. “Belle had her doubts; she was hurt badly in her last relationship and with Ruby being… well, _Ruby_ , she didn’t want to jump in too quickly.” 

“Wait, wait… you _knew_ about them?” 

“Of course I knew, they’re two of my best friends. They thought they were being so covert, but you can’t play a player,” he said with a faint grin. 

_Best friends._ Emma struggled to process precisely what he was saying. “But—isn’t Belle your girlfriend?” 

Killian stared at her. “No.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since… always?” 

“But I thought… everyone says… _what?_ ” 

Killian scratched behind his ear. “We went out a few times at the beginning of last semester,” he said. “I’d just started here and everyone I met seemed to think we’d be perfect together and they kept trying to set us up, so we gave it a shot. But there was just no spark, though we really liked each other so we agreed to be friends. At no point was she anything like what I’d call a girlfriend.” 

She continued to gape at him and he scowled. “Emma, I asked _you_ out,” he said, with an edge of anger in his voice. “When Belle was standing right there. Do you really think I’d do that if she was my girlfriend?” 

Emma felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. She _had_ thought that, in fact, and had continued to think it even after she got to know him well enough to see that he wasn’t at all that kind of guy. 

“You told her I was just someone you met at a party,” she said in a small voice. “It sounded like you were saying I wasn’t anyone important, or that you were trying to explain me away so she wouldn’t suspect you’d—” she broke off as the creeping heat turned her cheeks pink. 

His ears had gone bright red. “I’d what?” he asked gruffly. 

“Nothing.” 

“That I’d kissed you?” he pressed. “That I’d watched in awe as you came on my fingers?”

Emma gasped. “You do remember!”

“Of course I bloody remember! Several times a day, usually. I can’t get it or you out of my damn head, and believe me I have tried. You’re not an easy woman to forget, Swan.” 

“But you always acted like—you never said anything!”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘I fancy you madly and still dream about my fingers in your cunt, please let me fuck you before I lose my mind’?” 

“I mean, you could have started with coffee.” 

“I _tried!_ ” 

“You gave up awfully quick!” 

Killian huffed in exasperation. “Call me old fashioned, love, but when a woman says no, and especially when she says it as emphatically as you did, I take that as her final answer!” 

“Which means _you_ thought that that _I_ was the sort of person to just screw someone against a wall one day and then spit in their face the next?” she snapped. “Why would I do that?” 

“That is precisely the question I’ve been asking myself for months now.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “I thought—I _hoped_ —at the party, before we kissed… I thought that we had a connection. That you might actually be interested in me. And what I said to Belle the next day, about how we met… I was trying to tell her that I had actually _met_ you, properly I mean, and that I’d talked to you, because she knew how I—” he broke off with an uncertain glance at her. 

“How you what?” she encouraged, barely daring to breathe. 

“How I had a thing for the gorgeous blonde in my politics lecture,” he said softly. “The one who never even looked at me and disappeared after every class before I had a chance to talk to her.” 

“I looked at you.” 

His eyes widened. “You did?” 

“Well yeah, I mean, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes. But I—I _saw_ you. In class, whenever you talked the things you said I just—I always felt like you got me. Like we were coming from the same place, you know?” 

“Aye, I definitely do know. I felt the same. I tried so many times to catch you so I could introduce myself but you always ran off straight after every lecture and I never seemed to be quick enough.” 

“I had another class right after that one, on the other side of campus. I had to run to get there.” 

“So you weren’t running from me?” 

“No! I wanted to talk to you too. To get to know you. Why do you think I approached you at that party?” 

“Well, you did seem to have rather more than conversation on your mind.” 

“Okay, fair enough. But we talked, didn’t we? Before, er—” 

“Before you dragged me upstairs and had your wicked way with me?” 

“Oh my God.” She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks and he laughed. 

“Aye, love, we did talk.” 

“And I felt that connection, just like you. Enough to make me want to… you know.” 

“Drag me upstairs and have your wicked way with me?” He was smiling a smile she hadn’t seen since the night of the party, the cocksure one with the predatory edge that made her thighs clench. 

“Yeah… that,” she replied in a breathless voice and watched his eyes darken. 

“Emma, does this mean—” His smile faded into something far more yearning and he reached up, slowly and with a wary caution that squeezed her heart, and brushed his fingers across her cheek, wiping away the lingering dampness from her tears. She drew a sharp breath and pressed her face against his palm, shivering at the electric tingle his touch sent dancing across her skin. He hadn’t touched her the whole time they’d been working on their paper, she thought, not once. Not so much as a brush of elbows in the study carrel. He’d been so careful to respect what he thought she wanted. 

She looked up at him, at his eyes so soft and hopeful. “Does this mean what?” she whispered. 

“Does it mean you might want to—that we could, perhaps—” 

She closed her fist into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He groaned into her mouth as his arms wrapped tightly around her, his fingers sinking into her hair. She hummed and twined her own arms around his neck, opened her mouth beneath his and let herself be swept away, her blood pounding with the need to get her hands on him, get as close to him as she could, the same desperate urgency she’d felt at the party compounded now by all the feelings that had been slowly growing between them over the past four weeks. 

When they broke for air and he leaned his forehead against hers his eyes were almost the same as they had been that night, dark and alive with heat and desire but this time completely sober. There would be no forgetting this, for either of them, and no turning back from it once they’d taken this step. 

Emma wanted to take it. She was ready, more than ready, and he was—

“Emma,” he murmured once he’d recovered enough breath to speak, and the gravel in his voice made her ache. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Please let me fuck you before I lose my mind.” 

She laughed and grabbed him by the shirtfront again, tugging him behind her and into her bedroom. The minute they were through the door she pulled the shirt up and off him, tossing it aside. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you naked?” she asked as she trailed her fingers up his chest. 

“I hope at least six months,” he replied, snaking an arm around her waist and yanking her flush against him, pressing his mouth to her neck. 

“Longer. Since—oh, _God_ —since the first day of class last semester.” 

“What a coincidence,” he murmured against her collarbone, hands sliding beneath her shirt and snapping open the clasp of her bra with a deft twist of his fingers. “That’s precisely how long I’ve wanted to see you naked.” 

“Well then.” She pushed him away and held his gaze as she whisked off her shirt and bra in one move, smirking as his jaw slackened at the sight of her bare breasts. He stepped closer again, letting his fingertips trace along her collarbone and over the curve of her breast, across the hardened tip of her nipple. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this.” 

“Me too.” She trailed her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, over the smooth skin and muscles firmed by rowing and into his hair, pulling him close and thrilling at the hiss of his breath through his teeth when her breasts pressed against his chest. She kissed him again, open-mouthed and hot, as his hands roamed her back and downwards to curve over her ass and pull her hard against him. The feel of his erection cradled between her thighs drew a ragged moan from deep in her throat and she clutched at him with desperate fingers, trying to pull him closer. But Killian, despite the dazed lust in his eyes when he broke the kiss, was not a man to be rushed. With a wicked smirk he sank to his knees and pressed his face against her belly, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants and pulling them down, following their progress with his lips. 

She gasped. “Killian—” 

“Hmmm?” He buried his nose in the soft patch of curls between her thighs. 

“Oh my _God_.” 

“You smell so good,” he growled. “I could smell you on my fingers, the morning after the party. I’ve never been so sorry to wash my hands.” 

Emma clutched at his hair, her head spinning, and at the first stroke of his tongue through her folds her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. She could hear herself moaning, needy, desperate cries that grew louder as he licked deeper, his tongue stroking and pressing against her clit until she came with a hoarse scream, gripping his head to keep herself upright. 

He stood quickly, catching her as she stumbled and collapsed against his chest, pulled her head into the crook of his neck and tangled his fingers in her hair. She could feel his cock pressing insistently against her hip and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

Just as soon as she got her breath back. 

“That’s two,” she gasped when she could speak again. 

“Two what?” he murmured into her hair.

“Two times you’ve made me come. I feel like I owe you.” 

He chuckled. “The night is young, Swan.” 

“Considering it’s like five in the afternoon.” 

“Exactly.” He leaned back to look down at her, grinning that cocky grin that had lust stirring in her belly again. “And I have many, many suggestions for ways you can make it up to me.” 

She let her hand trail down his abs, beneath the waistband of his jeans to wrap around his cock, a saucy grin of her own curving her lips when he gasped. “Oh really,” she purred. “Do tell.” 

~

The following Monday morning Killian met Belle for coffee, like always. 

“Hey,” she said as he got in line next to her. “I wasn’t sure you’d show. You went dark all weekend, is everything okay?” 

“Aye.” He could feel himself flush and rubbed at his neck behind his ear. “Never been better.” 

Belle’s eyes widened. “You slept with Emma!” she cried. 

“I—what makes you say that?” 

“Oh my God, you did! You actually did!” 

“All right, okay, I did,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down. How the hell did you know?” 

Belle grinned smugly. “You have the worst poker face _ever,_ that’s how.” 

“It’s why I prefer dice,” he muttered. 

“So tell me everything,” she said, clapping her hands together. “ _All_ the details.” 

“I am absolutely not going to do that.” 

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay _fine_ , but at least tell me she isn’t going to blow you off again. This isn’t another one-time thing?” 

The door opened with a jangle of its bell and Killian looked up to see Emma, slightly breathless and with a shy smile on her face as she approached them. His heart soared, and the smile he gave Belle was pure happiness. “Definitely not just a one-time thing,” he said. 

-


End file.
